The Art of Becoming Me
by Simplicity5143
Summary: (Currently a oneshot) Nagihiko is 17 and trying to figure out who he really is. He is crazy about Amu, lives most of his life as his female counterpart Nadeshiko performing world-wide, and all of the questions about who he is and what to do about how he feels about her are forced to be dealt with when Amu discovers the truth. (In this story Amu is only interested in Nagihiko)


I rushed into the dressing room, adrenaline still running through my veins from the performance—there was nothing in the world quite like it! I kicked the door closed behind me, sounding with a thud as I scurried across the room to the small dressing table and changing screen nearby. Performing was exhilarating for me in a way that I knew was probably completely different than what Utau feels when she leaves the stage. Her fans scream and cheer and sing along with her melodic voice. If I do my job properly there should be revered silence. My audience should be captivated by my movements and the story I tell should resonate within them to the point that they are unable to move or speak. If I have done my job well then the only noise one will hear shall happen after the lights come up and the music has stopped. Tonight there was barely even movement, let alone noise. I had a fantastic performance as evidenced by my audience's captivation with my stage persona.

My confidence was, of course, bolstered by knowing that Tadase and more importantly, Amu-chan was in the audience cheering me on. I tried to spot her in the audience before the performance started to no avail—making the opening of the night a little disappointing as I felt actually seeing her would energize me in a way that nothing else would be able to. I could tell she was there, of course, I could sense it, but did not see her before hand and once I was on the stage there was nothing but me and the music to focus on—a strange phenomenon for anyone who doesn't actually perform to understand I am sure.

I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the movement of joy, peace, happiness coursing through my body—it was like a living thing wrapping itself around my organs, embracing my very soul. If one could bottle this and sell it they would be rich beyond all comprehension. I love performing, and I am good at it, nearly a master of my art, and I would continue to dance until I could no longer feel this emotional high from it. I would continue not just for my own pleasure, but also for those of my fans, the crowds whose silent approval and agreement to travel on the nether planes with me kept me going—my ability to make people happy by giving them something beautiful in a world of dark was tied with my own personal reasons for dancing even when dancing created conflicts inside my own psyche and created innumerable issues for me on a personal level.

I sighed, and then opened my eyes glancing at the clock on the wall, rolling my shoulders trying to loosen up my tense and precise posture that I carried with me through my days. I needed to hurry since the rest of the Guardians were going to be meeting "me" at the ice cream shop around the corner for a post-performance party of sorts. Me.

UGH. Me.

Nadeshiko. No. Not that "me", the OTHER me, Nagihiko.

My life was so complex and difficult to navigate. I mean normal teenagers have their own drama and "growing" issues to contend with but honestly, I had a level of problems that I doubt most teenagers ever even dreamt of in their most "emo" state of mind. I had only been able to manage the stability and normalcy to this point thanks to the love and support of my family who keenly understood the unique issues I faced—as well as through the support of my best friend Tadase who knew of my "hidden self" and was my sounding board and grounding stone in the face of all of the ups and downs of adventuring through puberty in a way that others would never understand.

A boy.

A girl.

Together in one body.

One very much a genetic, biological absolute. I was born a boy, there's no ambiguity here—I have all the parts and pieces that constitute a boy—I wasn't born confused biologically or emotionally. I AM a boy—emotionally, psychologically. I am all boy. I think like a boy, sometimes to a fault, I have no issue acting like a boy when I *am* a boy—and sometimes even when I'm not—despite what are nothing short of "feminine" features—and, yes, I absolutely do struggle with my other identity. That of the girl who also resides inside my body. This girl was not a naturally born creation, but rather a designed, well planned distinction carefully put into place by my family and our honor bound traditions in the art of dance and theatre from my Fujisaki heritage. From the earliest age I can recall through this very day, I had been raised to "be" a girl. Throughout my childhood there had been numerous days, though in retrospect far too few to be honest, where I was able to take off the heavy weight of being someone I wasn't born to be—to shed the artifices and mask of who I was externally to revel in the delight of being completely enveloped by who I was internally, and truthfully.

A boy.

I caught a glance of myself in the mirror, my hair pulled up into an exquisite array of flowing violets and blue held in place by dainty floral ornaments. I pulled at the clips that held it in place and began laying them across the table in front of me, my hair falling gracefully as each clip was removed—one of my greatest assets as a girl, it was luxurious and heavy, shiny and full of luster. It was a wonderful prop, but was by and far clearly one of my most feminine features. A well placed bow, a tucked strand and I was a girl, allowed to flow down my back, dressing properly—I was a boy—though undoubtedly, people believed what you told them, what they saw with their eyes even if their minds in some way knew there was a puzzle. Even if they questioned things, they often accepted the easiest explanation for what was what—and this predominate quality in humans is exactly why I had been able to get by with my lifelong charade to this point. Those moments when I would forget and use my all too often puberty ridden cracking boy-to-man voice when I was clearly a girl for all external appearances were written off by people as their imagination quickly when I would just flutter my eyes, blush and giggle a bit affirming to them what their minds were trying to tell them was true despite the unease of the falsehood they were swallowing. Most everything I did was about redirecting a captivated audience—unfortunately; this did not apply merely on stage but even more so in my real and personal life.

Having removed all of the clips, I worked the brush through my hair carefully; glad to be free of the restraints that often made my head ache and scalp tender and sore. I leaned forward and stared at my face-currently painted with bright colors with my eyes darkened and extended using glued on lashes. My lips ruby red and perfect next to the pale color of my face. I was beautiful, absolutely stunning to be honest—as a woman I would be magnificent and undoubtedly the focus of many love stories. It wasn't vanity, but genetics that made this a simple fact. I was blessed with the perfect cocktail of genes from my family to give me the exact features I needed to fulfill my duty to my family. I caught my eyes in the mirror, they flashed with anger and my normally graceful and delicate expression was one of darkness and a troubled frown. I understand honor and duty to family but honestly, the struggle has become increasingly difficult to deal with the older I get and I find myself rebelling more against the "family business" than any other generation of my family. This underlying anger and struggle was exhibited most predominantly when I was character changed with Temari, which I suppose makes perfect sense all things considered.

The thing is, I love the art of traditional Japanese dance, and I fully embrace and understand the necessity of my parents decisions to raise me in this ancient tradition—but modern society makes embracing myself as the person I truly am without the world's bigotry, ignorance, and hatred nearly impossible. The fact that a large part of the way I had been raised was to be discreet with the truth about who I am so as to not influence my own behavior among the people who surround me, encouraging authentic interactions versus those that were strained by the knowledge that something wasn't "normal" about me—well, none of it really mattered when I was younger, but now that I was older, and honestly, feeling not just the emotions of affection and potential love toward Amu-chan—but also those of overwhelming need and desire—complicating my world infinitely as there was nothing more uncomfortable than having a crush or worse responding physically to it when I was actually masked as a GIRL.

Fact, it's IMPOSSIBLE to maintain the façade of being "her" when my body is in complete and utter rebellion as a "him" when faced with the connection I have with Amu—something that while it was not necessarily new to me, as I have certainly entertained a crush here or there on a girl believe me while there may be confusion about who I am ultimately, there is no confusion about that part of myself —all of the other crushes I have had have been very short lived, but this one, it is rather different as it has not tamed over time and in fact, as only intensified as I have had the chance to better know her. She takes my breath away. She makes my heart beat out of my chest, and my palms sweat. I am fixated on her and to be blunt—it complicates everything! Apart from Tadase, she is my very best friend—and I am certainly her very best friend, as Nadeshiko, my female persona. My male counterpart while known to her, and I have in my "she" form been made aware of Amu's growing affection for me as "he"—is not on the same level playing field as "she" and this is one of the most frustrating and infuriating parts of being me. Because SHE is HE and HE is SHE and it's just impossible to say one is not who I am! Honestly, it's probably the leading reason most of the men in my family lived a rather lonely and reclusive life until they were older and more capable of handling the repercussions and struggle that came along with not only loving relationships but the ongoing emotional baggage that were an inevitable long term side effect.

I know I should have just told Amu the truth from the beginning. Having realized this important fact once so much time had passed made me certain her finding out would end any friendship she had with me on any level. Being selfish, I couldn't risk losing her. I felt like that would be what would happen without a doubt. How could she ever accept me as I truly am and how could she not feel like I had betrayed her by not telling her this huge important part of who I am all of this time? I felt like it was a situation of telling her before I "knew" her well—which honestly, only my family, and Tadase, knew the truth out of necessity—and it would never have occurred to me to tell her from the start, never imagining that anything I would feel about her would be more than any other passing crush I had felt before.

I groaned, pushing my hair behind my ear. I didn't have time to stress about this right now. I know I need to make some changes and I certainly need to figure out who I am and more than anything I needed to figure out how to handle Amu—but right now I had to get ready—the group believed that Nadeshiko would be leaving immediately after the show to go to Europe for her next performance and Nagihiko was going to see her off and then meet them at the shop.

I wouldn't have to be Nadeshiko publicly for another three weeks—when I had a performance in France. I both love that and hate that at the same time—certainly my ongoing "performances" at practice are one thing, though I am currently "touring" so only Nagihiko is at school these days so my time spent in my female persona is cut down significantly—much to my relief. Still, I miss her when I can't be her, the discipline, the training, using my body in ways that I have always found to be comforting—in ways that taught me to be myself—and yet, I have found that same kind of comfort in sports—especially basketball these days. It's not exactly the same, most sports are somewhat random and haphazard whereas my dancing requires precision and skills that have taken me all of my life to learn and grow. I couldn't picture never dancing again, and yet, I wondered about the idea of giving it up. I could see me giving it up, for Amu. I think I would always miss it, I think I would have an empty place inside of me, but couldn't I fill it with Amu?

Amu. I love her. There's no one else in the world to me that is like her. She inspires me and makes me want to be a better person—starting with telling the truth—but how CAN I tell her the truth? How can she ever care about me knowing how I have lied to her? I couldn't see a way that she could. Still no time for waxing poetic over my dual life…I had people to see, and would be spending time with Amu as well tonight.

I quickly untied and slipped off the ornate obi that I wear for my shows. I folded the pieces together and laid them carefully on the table for my Mom to prepare to be stored for travel. I used my toes to drag off my tabi socks since bending over would be nearly impossible with my tight layers, smiling at the thought of how much my Mom would chastise me if she saw me doing that. I hastily untied my datejime belt, the extra length of my robe falling to the floor, and started to pull open my kimono when the door to the room flew open to a flurry of pink and blonde hair and what appeared to be an argument. I froze.

"Let me go, Tadase!" Amu was talking in a very stern, un-Amuish voice as she flew past him into the room, jerking her arm out of his grip, "I just NEED to tell Nadeshiko—"

She stopped three feet into the room. A grief stricken Tadase stood behind her, his face twisted with concern and then his head fell down. Defeat radiating from him. Amu stood completely still, I couldn't tell if she was breathing, I could not tell if I was…it felt as if all of the air in the room had been sucked out of it.

I stood before Amu as someone in between Nadeshiko her best girlfriend and Nagihiko the boy she has had a crush on for a year. The girl she loves and the boy she likes. There was no way to spin this. I was found out. My hair was distinctly and decidedly Nagihiko's, my kimono was draped open, showing my nagajuban underneath, but there was no question that I was wearing the same clothing Nadeshiko had on during the performance. There was no way to get out of this. Amu stood apprising me carefully, while I tried to think of something, anything to say.

"I'll leave you two…" Tadase's voice broke the strange silence, seeming to fade off as he grabbed the doorknob to close the door behind him, his eyes boring into mine with an unspoken apology—but before he could get away Amu spun around, pointing her finger at him. She was shaking.

"YOU and I will be talking," she seethed through her teeth, "…count on it!"

Tadase held her eyes for a moment and then bowed his head before silently closing the door.

Amu turned slowly, her face schooled to look very neutral and without concern or feeling—but I could sense that there was something underneath just waiting to burst forth all coiled and ready to strike.

Her eyes moved across my face, down my body and then back up again—scrutinizing, analyzing. I felt like I was shrinking underneath her gaze, wishing a hole would open up and swallow me. I could not think of any way I could work this out, explain in a way that would satisfy her and make her understand why I had kept her away from this singular truth. I had to at least try. I had to.

I took a deep breath, "Amu-chan…let me explain…"

I took a step forward but stopped mid-step as she seemed to flare up, her anger a tangible living thing in the room.

"Do NOT call me by name," she was nearly screaming, approaching me quickly, "you do not get to talk to me, not at all! You certainly do not get to address me in such a way!"

Suddenly, she was in front of me, causing me to take a backward step. She roughly grabbed my hair, pushing me forward nearly knocking me down as I stumbled backward into the dressing table. She stood on her tippy toes, pressing into my chest, her breath soft but rapid on my neck as she was digging around behind me. Then she was yanking and pulling at my hair violently, which hurt and I bit back a complaint. It felt as if she was directing all of her anger at it, and I imagined chunks of it being ripped out but I dared not say a word. I would not stop her…I deserved any punishment she wanted to give me. As quickly and as unexpectedly as the hair pulling started she suddenly she drew back, having put my hair up using my discarded clips. I knew she had taken the strands and pulled them up and fashioned as best she could behind my ears in the style I normally used when performing. She drug the sides of my kimono together, hastily wrapping the belt around it and tying it none too gently. My body jerking this way and that with her harsh movements.

She stood staring at me, unblinking. Her eyes began to water, and she blinked as the first tear fell.

"Nadeshiko."

She turned from me then, her body trembling as tears began to fall in earnest. I had no idea what to say or do. My chest felt constricted and tight, and my heart was beating so hard I knew you could see it from the outside. She had told me to be quiet, to not speak to her. I wanted to respect her request. I wanted to do anything, would do anything to make her happy. I wanted to honor her, even in this moment, and she asked me to be silent. She was standing there crying though and how could I just ignore that!? I couldn't.

"Am…" I stopped myself from saying her name, the sounds fading on my lips. My arms reached out to hold her but I stopped myself, I had no right to touch her. My hands fell limply to my sides. I stood there, trying to decide what I could say to help. There really was nothing to say. Nothing that could undo what I had done to her. I knew this day would happen, and I had imagined it so many times in my mind, so many different ways, so many different scenarios, but this one, this one was more painful than any I had imagined before.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I thought it might have been so soft that she couldn't hear me as minutes passed with just my heartbeat and her soft sniffling. I wanted to touch her so badly my hands were burning with the need of it.

Suddenly, she turned toward me, making me catch my breath and my heart shattering into a million pieces and I took in the vision of her. Her normally sparkling eyes were swollen, her face covered and streaked with tears, her hair in disarray as she had taken her hands through it so many times in the last few minutes, and all I could think, being stupid as I am was how absolutely beautiful she was even in this moment. She advanced quickly to cover the distance between us and then she was there, inside my bubble, her hand drawn back and without any warning, my face was stinging with pain radiating from the slap she had just leveled to my left cheek.

I deserved that. I couldn't stop staring at her, she was screaming words at me, and I couldn't focus on them, they were ugly words, ones that Amu-chan should never say filled with bitter anger and hatred. The stinging came again, and I stood still, my feet far enough apart that the slaps merely made me sway…I didn't give into the desire to turn my face, as I believed with all my heart that this was nothing less than I deserved. Nothing less than I would ever deserve. I had betrayed her in the worst possible way. Nothing she could do to me would be what I would ever deserve. Nothing.

The stinging came quicker this time, and more words I didn't want to remember were flung at me, her tears soaking the front of her shirt and her voice had lost its normal tender lilt and was instead watery and hoarse. Two fists hit my chest. It wasn't very hard, not really, just thumps, and then more, and within moments she was screaming nonsensical words and hitting my chest with all the force she could causing me to steady myself on the dressing table's edge.

"I hate you!" she screamed as her hand drew back again to slap me again.

"No!" I yelled, the level surprising even me, as I grabbed her wrist in mid-swing, stepping forward and stopping her from hitting me again no matter how much I deserved it. Her entire body jumped at the force of my voice, she sniffled and then stared at me with watery eyes.

"The lies stop here, Amu-chan," I said, as gently as I could, "We will no longer lie, and that means that you can say you are angry, and you can tell me you will never forgive me, and you can tell me that you will never speak to me again, or any other words that may be truth. But you cannot tell me you hate me. I know you don't. We are done lying to each other."

She stared at me for a moment, her eyes boring into mine and then she fell into my arms weeping, as she let out all of her feelings. I shuffled back at the unexpected weight and leaned into the wall. I slowly drug us down the wall until we were sitting on the floor—my legs stretched out with Amu curled up in a tiny ball on my lap. I held her, thankful for this one memory at least.

This was not Nadeshiko hugging her best friend.

This was not Nagihiko playing it cool with a girl.

This was ME, holding the girl I love, whom I have always loved.

Maybe this wasn't so hard after all. Being one person.

I stroked her hair and held her as close as I could knowing that this time was fleeting—she was clearly too distraught to realize I was touching her. Taking advantage of her fragility like the terrible person I am I fluttered soft kisses to the crown of her head, smelling the beautiful scent that was all Amu. She just trembled and shuddered through her tears, her face hidden behind her cloud of pink hair. She would take a big breath and then slowly let it out, and I would think the tears had perhaps stopped, and then she would shake again, her tiny little body wracked with new and fresh sobs. I wrapped my arms around her holding her gently to me—wishing I had words to ease this pain.

I hated myself.

I've never loved her more.

I've never hated myself more.

I held my breath when she shifted on my lap to put her legs on either side of mine, her head still turned down, while she moved to face me. Slowly, her head lifted, her hands moving her hair from her face until she was looking into my eyes.

I opened my mouth to speak, but her finger flew up and stopped me before I could utter a syllable. Her face softened a tiny bit as she reached up to my hair, and began to gently take out the clips, lining them up one by one across the floor beside us. Her hands worked slowly, with great care to undo the tangles she had put there and as she focused on this task, I studiously focused on her—this may be my last time to ever look at her this way. I felt my eyes swell up with tears at the thought and despite my desire to stop them, I just couldn't. I shuddered as the first one fell slowly down my cheek. Looking at her face, at her eyes clouded with such pain. One of the flaws of being raised a girl, is certainly thinking very much like a girl. I couldn't fall back on some excuse of being a boy—that had been stamped out of me early in my childhood. I had known all along how much this would hurt Amu because I was uniquely equipped to understand her pain in a way no normal, average boy ever could. It was the paramount reason I had put off telling her for so long. I was aware of how much I had risked and what I was losing and I knew that it felt like her heart had been shattered on a concrete floor because we were a matched set.

Once she had moved my hair to lie on my chest, and ruffled my bangs to the side as she wanted them she traced the contours of my face, slowly drawing her hands across my eyes, wiping the newly formed tears, quickly replaced with more, then to the bridge of my nose, to my mouth. She leaned forward and slowly pulled at the artificial eyelashes that were glued on—now loosened by my tears, a tiny smirk as they pulled off and she discarded them beside us. She moved her hand to catch a newly formed tear, studying it for a moment and looking at my eyes then. Her hand came up, cuffing her sleeve over the heel of her hand, and then she swiped it across my mouth, removing the bright red, making several motions to get rid of the painted lips. She brought up the hem of her shirt and wiped at my face over and over again. She was erasing Nadeshiko, slowly, carefully…and it was one of the most intimate moments I have ever experienced and would be cataloging this for future review if not for the fact that this was what could only be the end of our relationship and unlikely to be something I would want to focus too hard on later. She reached down and pulled my hands before her, slowly removing the gloves from each of them and gingerly straightening them out and laying them to the side where the hairclips were.

She flipped my hands over and over again in her own, slowly, with great care, tracing a line here, touching a joint there, studying them carefully, measuring them with hers, laying them on top of her own…I wondered what she saw. Confused hands? Boy hands? Girl hands? What did she see when she looked at them? She took them, one at a time, and softly kissed the palm making my breath catch as she slowly placed them on each of her hips and then looked back up at me, her hand coming up to move some hair from my eyes. I held my breath not knowing exactly what was happening here.

She stared at me, a sparkle settling at her eyes, and then she smiled, it was tiny and faint, in fact, most people wouldn't have even recognized it as such but I knew—I knew it was a smile none the less.

"Nagihiko." She whispered.


End file.
